


Truth

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Awesome Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Hugs, Post-Episode: so2e16 Under The Radar, Protective Peter Burke, Trust, national treasure references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: Neal makes the right choice.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Low

**Author's Note:**

> **NB! CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF S2+start of S3** read at your own risk. 
> 
> this is basically what would've happened if Neal told Peter about the treasure as soon as he finds it, rather than hiding it from him.

He didn’t linger out of greed, rather out of relief. If he’d been sneakier trying to save paintings from the fire, he might’ve succeeded. The best thing about this, was that he could figure out why Peter suspected him  _ stealing _ the art all of sudden. 

First, he had to find out who did it. It was someone he knew, and someone clever enough to pull it off. And thus, only one suspect emerged;  _ Mozzie _ . 

Neal drew his hands into a fist. If Mozzie stole the treasure, then there was only one way he could’ve slipped up and left clues behind. He burned art, alright.  _ His art _ . 

Neal took out his phone and dialled angrily. 

Mozzie was busy, presumably with something related to said treasure. 

  
“Haversham, this is Nick...Halden. You  _ took _ something from me. You also know where I live. We need to talk,” he hissed, hanging up. 

* * * * *

He knew he needed to hear his side of the story. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a nervous wreck, however.

Mozzie entered the penthouse apartment, a bit befuddled but otherwise calm. 

“Merlot,” he noted in surprise at the empty bottles. The older man had wondered what was up with Neal. He didn’t understand what made him so mad. Now, he was no longer sure he wanted to know.

“Chrysler Painting,” Neal introduced the subject matter. 

Moz noticed his posture, or lack thereof. He was sitting in the dark on his bed. 

“If you’re going for a Don Corleone impression you need a cat..and a cigar.” he pointed out.

  
“I also need to be the kind of person who betrays my friends. Oh, wait, no. That’s you!” Caffrey barked. “Chrysler Painting. Did you burn it?” 

Neal had prepared himself enough not to cry. Apparently not  _ enough _ .

“I stole a multi-billion dollar treasure, and you’re upset because I burned  _ one _ of your paintings,” Mozzie stated, rather than asked. It seemed relatively irrational. 

Neal snorted, not believing him for a second. “You’re lucky I don’t have a law degree or I’d have you charged with  _ perjury _ ,” 

He didn’t even get time to rebut because Neal quickly snatched his glasses off his face and smacked him over the head with it.  _ Hard. _ Then he stomped on the remains for good measure.

“What was I supposed to do, check with you first?” Moz griped. 

  
“Yeah,” he scoffed. 

“I  _ couldn’t _ have,” 

Neal shook his head exasperatedly, walking over to the counter and pouring himself some more wine. 

“Why? What would be the difference? No one was supposed to find anything, right? But, someone did; because..the smartest man I know cared more about the treasure than about doing  _ ballistics _ . And you told  _ me _ to read more. Well guess what, you missed a page,” he knew it was a low blow, but Mozzie hit first. 

“Oh, what would you know about ballistics? You fired a gun once and didn’t even kill him!” Moz protested. 

That was the needle that punctured the balloon. Neal broke down crying, not even bothering to hold back. If he trusted Mozzie with just  _ one  _ thing it was to not judge him for having emotions. 

“Neal I’m so sorry,” he apologised. 

“That..that was stupid,” 

Neal knew that last one was about the treasure as much as his ill-timed jab.

“Just go! Go, I’ll give you a head start,” Neal yelled. “Run, Moz. Do the smart thing for  _ once _ in your life! Get out!” 

The door slammed behind the slippery  _ eel _ of a man as he slithered away into the night. 

Neal made sure to lock the door, before succumbing to his utter agony. 

He paced back and forth, taking deep breaths, eventually surrendering and hiding his sobbing face in his hands. 

He counted to ten once he’d collected himself, and called Peter.

* * * * * *

Peter was sitting on his patio, trying to wrap his head around what happened. He saw Neal trying to save the art, which didn’t make sense if he’d detonated the explosives.

He should’ve shown Neal the piece of canvas from the Chrysler painting. Maybe there was another explanation. 

The phone rang. It was Neal. Which provided more evidence against his immediate reaction.

Peter:  _ Neal. _

Neal:  _ I know who stole the art.  _

Peter’s brow furrowed. He didn’t sound okay. He sounded like he’d been _crying_. 

Neal:  _ Can we talk? Please? _

Okay, he didn’t like the sound of that at all. That wasn’t just sadness in his tenor. Caffrey sounded downright exhausted! _Emotionally_ _drained_. Burke wondered if emotionally draining a criminal informant could add any time to someone’s sentence. He hoped it did.

Peter:  _ Come on over. Satchmo needs a kiss goodnight.  _

For once, the agent pulled up the tracking data for a reason besides suspicion. Peter grabbed a treat and lured Satchmo to the door when Neal seemed close. 

  
The first thing Neal did when the door opened was hug him; for a really long time. The only thing Peter needed to know at that moment, was  _ what the hell was going on. _


	2. Warm

Peter held him until he stopped shivering. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Neal replied with a shrug. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t expect you to ‘cowboy up’ this time. I’m sorry, Neal. I should’ve acted more like an FBI agent and investigated before suspecting you,” he apologised. 

“Well, you  _ did  _ find my Chrysler painting,” Neal showed his understanding, petting Satchmo on the head.

Burke’s eyes widened in surprise. Then Elizabeth appeared.

Just one look at Neal told her he still wasn’t okay, so she hugged him as well. “You look like you could use a cup of tea,” El offered him a mug. 

He noticed there were two full pots on the tray. They wouldn’t be out of the beverage any time soon.

  
The three sat down in the living room. 

  
“How did you know it was the Chrysler painting?” Peter asked.

“Like you said, you  _ usually  _ investigate before jumping to conclusions, at the very least, you always make sure to have some facts, pointing at something. I get, after everything that happened, you couldn’t imagine another explanation for it,” he remarked, sipping the tea slowly, enjoying the warmth of both the drink  _ and  _ the company. 

“I really am sorry, Neal,” Agent Burke stressed. Neal just nodded. 

“ _You_ didn’t burn it. Mozzie did,” he explained, rolling his eyes.

“And if he’d cared about me at all, he’d know how much that particular painting meant to me, along with all the others he burned. After everything we’ve been through the last couple of days, you still  _ remember _ when that painting was on the easel” Neal smiled. 

Peter rubbed the top of Caffrey’s knuckles. 

“You said it  _ calmed your nerves _ ,” he returned a smile of his own. 

“It did. That it did,” Neal looked down wistfully. 

“So, how  _ did  _ you know about this?” Burke returned to the topic at hand, pulling out the piece of canvas.

“I found the treasure. I knew there was only one person who could’ve stolen it besides me, and only one way to get away with it,” 

Neal rubbed the remnant of his original artwork fondly as he spoke.

“By burning canvas. Canvas with  _ paint _ on it,” Peter leaned back in his chair, understanding. 

“He didn’t have to burn my art, he could’ve used random, cheap prints..or forged Pollock, he does some good ones of those,” Neal remarked.

“So why didn’t he?” Elizabeth chimed in with equal curiosity. 

“Because, he didn’t do the calculations as accurately as he should have. The risk of something surviving the fire was too great. He counted on you not recognising my work,” Caffrey smirked. 

Peter frowned. It was clear that him recalling just  _ one _ of his many paintings and the only one that couldn’t get him  _ arrested _ if sold, meant a lot to his friend. Enough to reaffirm why Neal trusted him more than Mozzie from the get-go. He felt himself being forgiven for his rash remark at the docks. Neal had given the statement as much thought as him. 

“I’m sorry to have to ask this; but how exactly do you intend to arrest Mozzie for the  _ alleged  _ theft?” he asked Neal, who immediately facepalmed at his use of ‘alleged’. 

Neal took out a small electronic device and pushed a button. It played a conversation; the one Mozzie and Neal had at the penthouse. 

Peter and Elizabeth heard the sadness in his voice on the recording. 

But more importantly, they heard the words ‘ _ I stole a multi billion dollar treasure _ ’. 

While they couldn’t prove it was the U Boat Treasure, they had enough to track him and search wherever Neal had seen the treasure last.

Unfortunately, El could tell that their guest was in no better mood than when he arrived. They’d only calmed him down. 

“Neal, you’re in no proper state to sleep over at June’s by yourself,” she told him. 

“And you need your energy for our game of cat and  _ Moz _ tomorrow. I don’t mind,” Peter agreed. 

Satchmo echoed the sentiment by jumping up on the sofa and waving his tail excitedly. 

Before they could protest, the owner of the lap turned  _ dog bed _ , was both hands deep inside the pup’s fur. 

“3 against one,” Neal laughed, scratching Satchmo's ears. The dog barked. 

“That  _ woof _ means you can grab the linens,” he winked.

* * *

Despite being about to sleep, Caffrey’s nighttime look was an improvement on his evening look. The curls were back in their right place, as well as the tall bangs in the front. He was reading a book about conspiracy theories.

“Jones verified the recording. It’s authentic. We’ll get the warrants in the morning, after breakfast probably,” Peter informed him. 

“Are you trying to lower my expectations or get me to eat my breakfast?” Neal raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Can’t lie to you... bit of both I think. Are you planning to make amends with our prime suspect?” Burke shrugged, pointing at the book. 

“No. This is legit. Sanctioned by the FBI legit. It was written by the guy who helped find the Templar treasure a decade ago,” Neal defended his choice of reading material. 

The author listed on the cover was Riley Poole. 

“Oh right, Sadusky in DC. Diana told me about it when she transferred back. Wasn’t that Ben Gates?” Peter checked

“Yes..and this guy,” Caffrey opened the book which had a small portrait of Poole. 

Burke snorted, unimpressed. 

“He’s their  _ consultant _ ,” he explained.

“Sans anklet, too. Speaking of..” Peter tugged off the part of the duvet covering Neal’s left leg. Swiftly and smoothly, he unlocked the anklet and took it off. 

Neal rubbed his anklet and stared at his handler warily. 

Agent Burke dialled the US Marshals office. 

“Hello, this is agent Burke. You’ve probably noticed I removed Caffrey’s anklet. He’s been working at my house this evening and will remain here,  _ with me _ overnight,” Peter made a hand-flapping gesture, as if he added that last part just to pander to their misplaced anxieties surrounding the con man and his leash.  _ Or lack of one. _

Neal chuckled in amusement. 

“Much as I appreciate you sticking it to to the Marshals, I don’t think  _ this _ really qualifies as working,” Neal pointed at his pyjamas. 

“I know. I didn’t say you  _ are  _ working. I said you  _ have _ been. Which is the truth. In fact you’ve worked more than is healthy at..ooh, 1 in the morning,” Peter corrected, looking at his watch. 

“Get some sleep, 007,” he advised, tucking back the covers over his friends ankle, and stroking his collar, finally patting the equally silky curls. 

“Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight  _ Neal _ ,” 

* * * * * * *  


The door had been left ajar, so before they went to bed themselves, Elizabeth snuck a peek inside. It was strange how a man guilty of so many things could sleep so  _ innocently _ . 

But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. 

She urgently whispered to her husband. “Hurry, before he moves his arm,” El warned vaguely. 

Peter followed. 

He wrapped his right arm around his wife, drowning in unadulterated pride. 

Neal had fallen asleep clutching something in his hand. But it wasn’t the book. 

It was his **FBI badge**.

Illuminating the room just as much as the future. 

“I think our boy’s gonna be alright,” Peter murmured softly.

“Well, of course he is. And you know why? Because he’s an FBI Agent,”

She didn’t know if she imagined it, but she wondered if Neal had heard her. She could’ve sworn she saw the corners of his mouth crinkle.

  
He was  _ smiling. _


End file.
